


Détente

by stopmopingstarthoping



Series: Statecraft [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, Negotiations, not that kind though, trade deals are sexy i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Détente:  the easing of tension, hostility, or strained relations, especially between countries.Ravus and Ignis are left alone to hash out the details of a critical trade deal.





	Détente

Ravus sighed and pushed back from the table. The old men had left the room, leaving him to discuss the remaining details of the trade deal with this - whoever this was. Not even the pathetic prince, but one of his lackeys. Thus far, Ravus had refused to stoop to a true discussion, responding with monosyllables and stony silence. Striding to the window, he fumed, silently.

Ignis rose, slowly, the controlled grace of his movements not lost on the other man out of the corner of his eye. “Negotiation,” he said coolly, boots striking rhythmically as he crossed the floor, “involves a give and take. A flow of information, as it were.” He stopped, still behind Ravus but within his peripheral vision. “Giving orders is not negotiation.”  His tone was more authoritative than it had any right to be, at twenty or however old this precious little insult of a courtier was.

Ravus spun, formal coat whirling, and advanced on Ignis. “And precisely what do you think you have to tell me about negotiation?” Irritation dripped from the last word, and Ravus tilted his chin down, annoyed to find that the other man's height nearly matched his own.  He summoned all the dismissiveness he could, closing on the advisor with swift steps. To his credit, the fine-boned face in front of him didn't shrink or flinch. Ravus was unused to that.

Ignis waited until Ravus was close - too close to be entirely comfortable - and continued, calmly. “A truly successful negotiation involves an honest recognition, at least privately, of one's own strengths and weaknesses, and the ability to navigate toward providing something of value to the other party. Something those in your - _position_ \- often fail to achieve. Being to the manor born, in your case quite literally, can be a significant drawback.” He shrugged lightly. “I don't blame you personally. But I do expect you to at least try.”

Ravus spoke mockingly. “That hurts; it really does, Scientia.” His smooth tone belied his words. “Now be slightly less useless and figure this out.”  He gestured roughly toward the documents that had been left for them on the table.

Ignis tilted his head, holding his gaze steady. “Gladly. I do, however require your participation in this endeavor.” Threat and command gleamed behind a steady green gaze.

How dare he? Ravus stepped even closer, nearly touching the graceful lines of Ignis’ finely tailored suit. “Show some respect. And remember who you are dealing with.” He spat the words, furious that he’d allowed this speck of a human being to anger him, and even more furious that Ignis seemed too stupid to be prudently intimidated.

“Oh, I believe I have your measure quite well,” Ignis drawled. He was close enough that Ravus felt the warmth of his breath. Ignis’ eyes flicked down, then up.

High Commander.”

Ravus started, and then a slow smile curved his mouth as realization slid in. “Ah, a pretty plaything who knows he’s pretty. Do you think you can use that on me,” he teased, “boy? Is that how someone so feckless manages to manipulate powerful people? In back rooms and side hallways?” He growled the last sentence in Ignis’ ear and pushed past him, back toward the table, back toward the minor mess they’d been left to clean.

It was Ignis’ turn to startle, and he flushed, then lowered his eyebrows and clenched his fist. He caught Ravus by the wrist before he could sweep by him. Ignis slid his fingers around the pale wrist neatly, immobilizing but not hurting the Tenebrean prince. With a gait less measured and more angry, he closed the gap between them in a step. “Trust, _Ravus_ , that if that were my intent, you would _know_.” The words seeped between his teeth, and Ignis breathed through his nose. Ravus felt the leather glove squeeze and tighten, the grip turning almost imperceptibly -

Far be it from the Royal Advisor to make an international incident of a trifling insult.

Ignis threw Ravus’ wrist down with a swift flick. Ravus instantly pulled his hand up, striding stiffly away.

Ignis caught his gaze again. “You would _not_ have to rely on petty innuendo and wishful thinking.”

Ignis kicked a chair out and sat, pointing. “Sit.”

Ravus stood, crossing his arms.

Ignis templed his gloved fingers in front of him, and waited.

Ravus laughed. “Really? The old church steeple fingers? My, I am impressed. How long have you been doing this again?”

Though I'm not surprised that this sorry excuse for a council has a green young boy as an advisor. Fitting, given the state of the royal family.” Ravus rolled his eyes and waved a hand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ravus saw Ignis clench his jaw and flush. So he’d gotten to the little shit after all. How disgustingly loyal.

Ignis pushed up his glasses and leaned back in his chair. He rested his arms down at his sides, seemingly deliberately, then gestured broadly. “You heard the instructions. We're here until we hammer out these terms. If you're so eager to insult me, that can be arranged after we have signatures on a final document.” His lazy indifference seemed put on, and Ravus decided to continue to push.

“It that is something that titillates you, I would be happy to.” With a flourish, Ravus sat. “Though, I'd guess that you'd get off much more on the paperwork that anything I have to offer.”

Ignis’ chuckle surprised him. Ravus hadn't anticipated a sense of humor, particularly given the hideous insults he'd just thrown at the younger man.  

“In answer to your question,  I have been in these types of rooms often enough to have seen - this - as a tactic far too many times.” Ignis waved his hand drily. “The insults, the stonewalling. It's quite tiresome, really.” He looked up at the clock dramatically. “Please do let me know when you are quite finished with this part of the routine so we can discuss in earnest.” He scooped the pile of papers from where they lay in disarray and busied himself putting them in order.

Ravus narrowed his eyes. He wasn't wrong. They'd better come up with _something_ , or face the wrath of their superiors. Which, Ravus guessed, would be much more of a problem for him than for this retainer, given Regis’ mild manner toward his staff during the days of meetings. Still, he mused, you never knew when the most kindly public face could conceal lethal exactitude behind the scenes. Ravus knew well the cold steel at Regis’ core.

In any event, it did make sense to plod through the damned thing. Ravus’ stomach growled loudly, and he deigned to notice the time, finally. This infernal room had no windows at all. It was late.

Ignis saw him look at the clock and checked his own phone, scrolling through messages. “We've not been completely disregarded. Arrangements have been made to bring something in.”

Ravus’ eyes narrowed. At this point in the day, he wouldn't put it past Scientia to delay the meal to squeeze a couple of bargaining points out of him. He braced himself and reread the first item on the list, then handed it back.

At that moment, a polite knock sounded through the heavy wooden door.  One of the Citadel's uniformed wait staff wheeled a tray in, and a sullen Glaive posted at the door peered around the corner. The Glaive was small, but her sharp gaze rattled Ravus a little, if he was honest.  He cleared his throat and made an effort to smile at the young man serving the food. He knew he had a terrible reputation for being a shit to staff, which was undeserved, in his opinion. Why not save his ire for those who actually deserved it?

Like this preening thing across the table. So confident. Just asking to be taken down a peg. Ravus smiled in earnest at that.

“Thank you, James.” Ignis nodded affably and took a bite, pulling the paper towards him. “The first item here is - normalization of border relations. Yes. Simply put, your thugs need to stop harassing our merchants.”

Ravus stopped examining his fingernails and turned his hand over, palm facing up. “In exchange for what?”

Ignis chewed and swallowed before answering. “For simply behaving and following the law? Nothing.” He wiped his mouth and took a large swallow from one of those cans of disgusting cold coffee he drank. He didn't even look up from the document. “Now, item two - “

“I don't believe I've agreed to anything yet.”

Ignis stopped and looked up at him, clearly irritated.

Ravus sat back and folded his arms. “They’re hardly thugs. You shouldn’t be surprised that Tenebraeans are unfriendly at the border, given your horrific Lucian tariffs.”

Ignis primmed up and retorted, “The duties are not unreasonable, and I doubt the thugs are Tenebraean.”

Ravus pondered, thoughtful. “Getting rid of the tariffs would likely help your terrible currency fluctuation issues.” He leaned forward. "You know, this would all be much easier if Insomnia would just use the gil.”

High cheekbones flushed, and Ignis busied himself with additional food. Ravus had a point, and Ignis knew it. Ravus also knew that the elder Council members were insistent on this issue, though, so Ignis was stuck with it. Why not make him twist a little?

Ignis tapped his lower lip with a pen, and straightened. “We’re prepared to completely eliminate customs duties - tariffs, as you say - on certain items that are critical to the Tenebraean economy.” He looked at Ravus over his silvery glasses, and Ravus was surprised. This was a large concession, and he was trotting it out early. _What does he want in return?_

Quickly, Ignis drafted a list in precise lettering and pushed it across the table at Ravus. “These are the key items on which we’re willing to compromise.”

Ravus pulled it to him and eyed it. Without looking up, he reached for a pen and struck out three items, writing in two more. The absence of Tenebraean wine from the list was a critical omission.

Ignis squinted at his scribbles and shot back an appraising glance. He thought for a moment, then gave Ravus a stern nod. “I can recommend that this be accepted.” He tucked the handwritten sheet behind the typed agreement that had been left for them. 

“Item two.” Ignis started to read from the sheet, but Ravus cut him off.  

“We want most-favored status with Accordo and Galahd. Any preferential conditions negotiated with them will also apply to us.”

Ignis frowned. “But you're Empire-occupied. We're not inclined to give most-favored status to countries that aren't similarly situated.”

“Galahd is occupied. And Accordo may as well be.”

“Accordo is… complicated.” Elbow on the table, Ignis leaned his forehead on his hand.

Ravus smirked. He knew that what he was asking for would likely cause a major political disruption between Lucis and Accordo. It was important to Accordo that they be seen as somewhere well above Tenebrae in the ranking of nations that had been shit on by Niflheim. Another excellent point on which to enjoy seeing Ignis squirm.

“We simply can't. This entire deal hews entirely too close to our doing business with Niflheim as it is.” Ignis’ tone was weary.

“This is about Tenebrae, not Niflheim.”

Ignis just looked at him. There was no need to say that they had become two names for the same thing, and Ravus’ chest twisted painfully.

“For someone so hell-bent on lecturing me on the finer points of negotiation, you certainly seem to have several non-negotiable points here.” Ravus reached over the table, closer to Ignis than was really necessary, purposefully invading his space. He popped a small piece of fruit in his mouth and chewed.

Ignis cleared his throat, his eyes snapping back down to the term sheet. “Yes, well.” He reached absently for another bite of bread without looking, and, seemingly unintentionally, grazed leather fingertips across the back of Ravus’ hand.

At the contact, Ignis simply halted, and that steady gaze froze Ravus again. Ignis pulled his gloved hand back, slowly. “After you.”

As the night wore on, Ravus threatened, and Ignis dodged.  Ignis presumed, and Ravus condescended. Somehow, the two of them resolved and fleshed out all eight provisions in the tentative trade agreement. A draft, written in Ignis’ precise hand with a few ink-dotted embellishments in Ravus’ spiky writing, lay on the table underneath the original list left to them.

Ignis sat back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “I don’t even want to look at the clock.”

Not for the first time that night, Ravus swept a hand through his hair. He pushed out his chair and got up, and Ignis politely rose, following him to the door.

They stopped, just short of the exit, the air thick with something Ravus couldn't quite describe. Or chose not to. They paused, hesitating to exchange the customary pleasantries.

Thought had flown. Ravus struck like a snake, his head bending to claim Ignis’ mouth, and his hand clutched the back of Ignis’ neck possessively. He tensed, awaiting the inevitable counter. Ravus retained just enough sense to realize he'd probably be cuffed for this.

The counterattack came, but not in the form Ravus had expected. A tongue in his mouth and a rough grip in his hair, instead of a slap or a punch. Really, this young advisor was full of surprises.  

Ignis pulled back, gave him a strange smile, and reached behind him to flick the lock of the door.  Long, gloved fingers traced lightly down the door frame, and Ignis gave him a long look, questioning and knowing at the same time.

Briskly, Ignis shoved a thigh between both of Ravus’. He squirmed, indignant that the younger man should have such ready evidence of Ravus’ growing disadvantage, and he felt his cheeks burn.

Ignis leaned his lithe frame close. “I'm afraid all of the back rooms and side hallways are otherwise occupied, _Ravus._ ” His final word was no more than a breath at Ravus’ ear, and Ravus cursed himself for shuddering.

“Hardly the way to convince me I was wrong about you, is it?”

Ignis was somehow unbuckling Ravus’ coat and removing his own glasses at the same time. He cast the spectacles down on top of the finished paperwork, pulling both their eyes to it for a moment.

“The deal is done,” Ignis said breathlessly. “A little late for manipulation, don't you think?” A sharp gaze met Ravus’ own and he twinged again. _Godsdamnit_ , this young advisor.

“Don't think this will make me respect you,” Ravus sneered, at an increasing loss for words.

Ignis had the audacity to chuckle. “Oh, I suffer no such delusion. Fortunately for you, respect isn't what I'm after.” His eyes burned into Ravus’ for a moment before he dropped to his knees.

Ignis struggled with a buckle. “Is it really necessary to wear all this when you're not actually fighting?” He frowned, and fussed.  

“I should fuck you over this table for your insolence.” Ravus said it out of spite, but his cock throbbed and swelled as he imagined the idea.

Ignis laughed, deep and sarcastic. “As I'm not _actually_ the palace concubine, I'm afraid I'm not prepared for more than this at the moment.” Ignis’ words had elongated and lowered into a tone that made Ravus strain against the hands working at his zipper. “At least you're not wearing that ridiculous armor.”

Ravus opened his mouth to retort, but let out a shuddering moan instead. The “this” Ignis had referenced turned out to be a tongue, licking up the underside of his cock and sliding around the tip.

Ravus tensed, and a hand found Ignis’ hair. When his fingers grasped and pulled, Ravus was surprised by the sound it drew. It was almost a whimper, and now it was Ravus’ turn to let his chest resound with a laugh. He let his knuckles scrape Ignis’ scalp as he twisted slightly harder. Ravus quite enjoyed the wanton noise it drew from the man kneeling before him, and the sensation around his cock as the sound emerged.

The tables were turned on Ravus again, though, when he felt his cockhead press into the soft flesh at the back of Ignis’ throat. He let out a high, thoroughly undignified noise and jerked forward. That tongue swept over his cock again, as a gloved hand slipped in to squeeze and stroke him in rhythm with Ignis' mouth. Ravus pressed forward, testing his boundaries, and closed his eyes. Good gods, the sheer fucking _enthusiasm_ being lavished on him made Ravus wonder if his wild accusations had been right after all. He let out another completely embarrassing groan at a particularly expert flick of Ignis' tongue, followed by a deep exhale as his cock was fully enveloped once again. Ravus felt his breath speed up and a tingling tightness build at the base of his spine amidst lascivious, wet sounds. He felt a small bead of sweat trickle from his temple.

Ravus opened his eyes again to meet a bright green gaze, somehow still managing to stare at him with a challenge. His hips began to twitch, almost of their own accord, and Ravus murmured a few broken phrases. "Six.. yes...  _take it."_ Ravus pulled hard at the hair in his fists, and stifled a cry as Ignis’ wicked, filthy mouth proceeded to milk every last drop from him. Ravus jerked a final time, releasing Ignis’ hair and stepping back to catch his breath.

Ignis stood and leveled another commanding look at him - _how dare he be so shameless and so confident_ ? - and walked back toward a chair, sitting down in a swift, fluid motion. Ravus’ breath slowed, but sped up again as he watched Ignis slowly and carefully remove himself from his own pants, returning his bright green eyes to Ravus’. His cock was just as infuriatingly beautiful as the rest of him. _Does he think that just because -_

Ignis sat back in the chair and fisted his cock at Ravus.

Ravus’ pride wanted very much to make a grand exit. To have taken his pleasure, and leave Ignis to fend for himself, would be the ultimate insult.

Unfortunately, Ravus’ pride was no longer in charge.  And Ignis wore a close-lipped little smile that said he knew it. Ravus crossed the floor with impetuous steps.

With equal parts lust and performance, Ravus lowered his mouth. He was secretly pleased when Ignis’ eyes shut. Ravus felt a hand at his head, shoving him down roughly, and instead of resisting, instead of huffing and complaining, he slackened his jaw and moaned. This was shameful, a disgrace…

And it had his cock stirring in his pants again already, so soon after spilling himself inside this man's mouth. _Fucking Astrals._ Ravus felt Ignis strain up off the chair, and Ravus hollowed out his cheeks and curved his tongue around Ignis’ cock, to hear the sounds he'd make. They were deep and sinful, and when Ravus raised his head to take a breath, he saw Ignis - pink-faced, open-mouthed, and completely at his mercy.

Ravus returned to his task and, uncharacteristically, lost himself in it. The part of himself that was always removed, always watching from the outside simply melted away, in favor of the enjoyment of the sensual smell and the smooth feel of this cock in his mouth, the tensing, trembling flesh beneath him as he explored with his tongue and his hands.

Gloved fingers stroked through Ravus' hair almost gently as he continued his task. It wouldn't be long now.

A moan through clenched teeth, another gasp, a jerk of hips, and it was over. Ignis’ bitter release splashed over Ravus’ tongue, and Ravus, still consumed in the moment, followed his thrusts until Ignis settled. Ravus did note that perhaps the advisor could stand to drink a little less coffee.

Disheveled, splayed over the chair, Ignis caught his breath as Ravus wiped his mouth and straightened up. Ravus’ eyes took in the sight in stealthy sideways darts, but the gorgeous picture burned itself into his brain nonetheless.  He was surprised to find himself disappointed when Ignis collected himself and tucked himself back into his pants.

There were no words appropriate for this occasion. Ravus simply nodded, buckled his last few remaining straps, fiddled with the lock for a moment, and swept from the room.

Ignis laughed as Ravus left, and the sound reverberated down the hall.

* * *

“How was your all-night meeting with the pain in the ass of Tenebrae?” Gladio took the last bite of sandwich and dusted off his hands.

“Oh, I wouldn't say _all_ night. We were quite finished by 2 a.m.” Ignis turned a newspaper page and continued to browse. “Insufferable, since you asked.”

Gladio shook his head. “That bad, huh?”

“Yes, I had to wrestle nearly every detail to the ground. It was horrid.” Ignis scanned the page placidly, and then looked at Gladio over his glasses.

Gladio put his drink can in the bin and pushed out his chair. He clapped Ignis on the shoulder sympathetically. “They're coming back in a couple of weeks, you know. For the official state visit. They'll probably throw him at you again. No one else wants to deal with him.”

“Indeed.” Ignis sighed. “No matter. I do believe I've got his measure now.” He leaned back and crossed one long leg over the other.

“Ah, the master negotiator.  Managed to get under his skin, huh?” Gladio smiled at him.

Ignis flicked the paper in front of his face for a brief moment. “You could say that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 4 of FFXV Rarepairs Week 2018 ("That hurts.")


End file.
